Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(30)

He went quiet, and she sensed it was difficult for him. But he was the one who started the foot rub in the first place.

His fingertips finally grazed over the tops of her feet, up her calves and back down again for one last squeeze before gently setting her feet down on the floor. Time to stop being an amoeba. But damn if she could open her eyes.

“I want you.”

His husky voice was what did it. She cracked one eye open. He watched her with such longing, such hunger, she shivered again. Despite the sweatshirt, despite the fact there was no chill in the house, she couldn’t stop her arms and shoulders from shaking a little.

She’d denied herself for so long. Not for Zach’s benefit, but for hers. Because she’d been tired, she’d had no time, she’d had no money, or decent prospects. And now here sat a man who wanted her, who was quite possibly the end all, be all of prospects, with plenty of time, a fresh foot rub under her belt, and no need for money.

And she still couldn’t have him forever.

Would it be bad to have him for a night?

“You’re thinking too much.” He reached for her slowly, so slowly, and she could have said no. Instead, when he hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her to sit on his lap, she let him. Her long legs dangled over the side, and her ear rested on his chest, just above his heart. One large hand stroked up and down her sweatshirt-covered arm.

He kissed the tip of her ear. “Will you stop thinking about it so much for tonight?” His phone buzzed, and he grunted and reached for it in his pocket. “Sorry, not trying to be rude but—”

“Work, I get it.”

He unlocked the screen, then chuckled a little. “Zach’s asleep.”

“That’s early . . .” She checked her watch. “Normally his bedtime’s not for another half hour. And usually he cons a sitter into tacking on another thirty minutes.”

“He had some help. Greg ran over and wrestled with him a bit. Showed him a few takedown moves. And I can hear you doing the mom thing in your head,” he added, rubbing a hand down her back. “Reagan says he did great, was happy as a clam, and hit the hay hard. Look.”

He held the phone out, and she smiled when she saw the photo of her baby boy sprawled out on his bed, feet where the head should go, in Spiderman boxers and Captain America T-shirt. “He looks happy.”

“You can practically see dream bubbles of superhero battles drawn over his head. He’s good. And Reagan also says . . .” He navigated away from the photo and back to the text message screen. “‘Don’t rush home, Greg and I are watching a movie and we’re gonna make out for a while. Be a friend, leave us in peace.’”

Kara gasped, then giggled. When Graham stood, her still in his arms, she gasped again and grabbed for his shoulders. “Put me down! I’m too big for this.”

“Too big,” he scoffed, tossing her a little against his chest. She shrieked—which was probably his number one goal—and held on tighter—a close second. “You’re tall, sweetheart, but you’re not big. Let’s follow in their footsteps and watch a movie. I’ll flip through what I’ve got and yell if you like something.”

“Just a movie?” she asked innocently as he settled them down on the couch and turned on the TV for Netflix. “Really.”

“I mean, if you wanna throw in some of that making out . . .” He held his hands up in a what can you do? gesture. “I won’t deny you. I doubt I could deny you anything.”

The final sentence had been spoken so softly as he flipped through the instant queue, she wondered if he’d meant for her to hear. But while the movie titles scrolled by, they started to blur. Her skin tingled where it touched his, even through clothing. Her breasts felt heavy, and she fidgeted a little on his lap. In response, she could feel a hard presence making itself known.

“Stop,” she croaked out. The movies froze, landing on what looked like a foreign film. She didn’t care. She wasn’t paying attention.

“See something you want?”

His voice was low, so low, and she knew he was onto her. Just like she knew, if she stood up and walked out, he wouldn’t stop her or complain. And would probably just ask her to dinner again tomorrow night.

She shifted, turning and using some creative flexibility until her knees pressed into the couch, straddling him. “Yes, I see something I want.”

The remote dropped to the cushion beside him, his hand gripped her waist and pulled her forward, torso to torso, groin to groin. His eyes were gleaming, like black onyx, and his mouth was set in a firm line. She could read him so well, now. He wouldn’t move until she made the first one. Wouldn’t push another inch until she opened the door and issued the unquestionable invitation.

Wanting to delay, wanting to hurry, she forced herself to calm down and slow down. Kara’s hand brushed over his hair, nails scratching lightly in his scalp. It had nearly the same effect as his foot rub had on her. His breathing deepened, and his hands squeezed rhythmically against her hips. Leaning down, she brushed her breasts against his chest to test his response. Even between the layers of the thick sweatshirt, her nipples hardened into points, begging for attention.

“Graham,” she said softly by his ear. He uttered a grunt. “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”

Another grunt. He’d gone very quiet for a man who had all the answers earlier.